


Old Friends

by lea_hazel



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Community: help_japan, Compromise, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after they lose contact, Mac picks up the phone and calls Veronica out of the blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookchan/gifts).



> This was written as a help_japan offering for bookchan, who must have the patience of an Elder God to have not assassinated me yet.

After she quit coffee cold turkey Mac's morning ritual got a lot shorter. No more sitting at the breakfast counter for half an hour nursing a mug of Java while Wallace was up and dressed and out of the house in twenty minutes. Which is why she was surprised to find him already up when she shuffled into the kitchen looking for the last of the Froot Loops. Of course, he had taken inspiration from her and started eating in the morning, and now his bowl was full and the box was empty. 

It took her a few disgruntled minutes before she noticed that the TV was on. Neither of them had touched it in months, seeing as how Wallace never watched TV and Mac streamed everything on her laptop. For the most part it just sat on the shelf above the veggie basket where they kept the unpaid bills. But this morning it was on, muted, showing some sort of news bulletin before the morning talk shows. Wallace's eyes were intent on his cereal bowl, but Mac could tell he was watching, in that weird way of his that she'll never get used to. Video clips of milling uniforms were interspersed with black-and-white mugshots and photos of tables stacked high with rectangular packages. 

"Big drug bust in San Jose," said Wallace. He got up and turned his back on her to wash the dishes. 

The runner on the bottom of the screen was uninformative, as usual. Mac nudged the volume dial with her toe as she finished peeling an orange. 

"...give credit to agents Kurtz, McNeil and Mars for the warrants leading to these arrests. As we have heard, this is the biggest drug-related FBI operation on the West Coa--" 

She choked a little on her orange slice, then set it firmly aside and leaned forward to push the volume back to mute. It was too late; Wallace was drying his hands on a dish towel and out the door before she could say a word. She sighed, switched off the TV, went back to her breakfast. Sooner or later he'd have to talk. 

***

"She's still punishing me," he said drunkenly. Wallace Fennel had the worst head for liquor of anyone she had ever met. "It's been six years and she's still punishing me." 

Mac tried to nod sympathetically without actually saying anything. He clearly needed to vent.

He pointed a wobbly finger at her. "You're my witness! Did I not phone here every Christmas?" He sniffed.

"Every year, on Christmas and her birthday," she agreed.

"And did she ever answer? Did she pick up even once?" he asked. "No, no she didn't, of course she didn't," he answered himself. "Why would the great, mighty Special Agent Veronica Mars pick up the phone to talk to her best friend?"

Mac sighed very softly and grabbed herself another beer that she knew she wouldn't finish.

"'Don't you want to be my BFF, Wallace?' A man makes one mistake. Wasn't even really a mistake. Never there for me when I needed her, was she?"

He was starting to slur his words, and Mac wondered whether she would have to put him to bed like a drunken freshman on rush week. Maybe they were grownups, with real grownup jobs, maybe he was an engineer and she was a development team leader. When it came to Veronica Mars, they still both acted like dumb teenagers.

She gathered all the empty bottles and dumped them into a paper takeaway bag, stowing it under the sink. "Bedtime, Wallace," she said, in as perky a voice as she could muster.

He grumbled, but shuffled off to his room at the end of the hall.

Mac sat back down on the couch, heavily. She watched his back retreat and the door swing gently shut behind him. Then she counted to thirty. Then she picked up the phone.

***

The next day, she checked out of work early. She'd barely gotten her keys out of the door when she heard a knock. She opened the door.

"Come in," was all she said.

Veronica obliged. "Nice place," she said.

The small talk was going to be painful. "Have a seat," said Mac, gesturing at the couch. "I'll get us some drinks."

"Just water, please," said Veronica.

While she was setting up a tray, she took the opportunity to examine her. She'd changed, more than Mac had expected. Working in high tech had its perks, and one of them was showing up to work in sci-fi themed T-shirts and purple-streaked hair. Veronica, on the other hand, was wearing a pants suit and flats, and Mac was pretty sure that she'd dyed her hair a darker shade of blonde. She was fidgeting. Mac decided she couldn't torture her too much, and brought out the tray.

Veronica picked up her glass of ice water, sipped from it, held it, sipped from it again. Set it down again with a very audible click. "How'd you find me?" she asked bluntly.

Mac almost smiled. "Your big drug bust was on the morning news," she said. "We were working with the cyber crimes unit last year, so I knew who to call about visiting agents. Congratulations, I guess."

"Yeah, yeah," said Veronica, waving a dismissive hand, "it'll really make my career, no more dressing up in dayglo thongs to go undercover as a stripper, from now on it's the big leagues all the way, baby."

"You're ranting," said Mac. Why did everyone always want to rant at her? As if she didn't have anything to rant about herself.

"I got a chip on my shoulder," said Veronica, but she was cracking a smile. "I missed you."

"I have a phone," said Mac. "You know the number, because it's the same number Wallace uses to call you, twice a year. It's the number you let go to voice mail, every single time. Don't you think enough's enough?"

She might have shouted, or stormed out, and that would have been better. Instead her face turned to a mask, smooth and relentless, her mouth a tight, horizontal line. Mac knew it, because she'd seen it turned against everybody but her. It was Veronica's game face, the face she put on when she was at her most Veronica Mars.

"You don't know the whole story," she said. "If you did, you wouldn't have done this. I guess you're expecting him any minute?"

"He might be a while," she answered coolly. "I think I know more than you think I know. I think I've always understood more than you gave me credit for."

"What we have," said Veronica, looking at her clasped hands, "what we _had_ , Wallace and I, was always more complicated. It was never as simple as between me and you. There was history, and disappointed expectations. What happened between us is not so easy to fix."

"I figured," said Mac, still a little angry, "that it would take more than an apology and a peck on the cheek. But you can't go throwing things away like that. When have you ever had enough friends to spare one, Veronica? I know you haven't changed that much. Making enemies, it's part of who you are."

"You know," said Veronica, her voice rising, "you're not the only friends I've ever had. I _have_ friends. You'd think I was the most socially isolated person in the world, to hear you talk. But then, you always did think you were rescuing me from a fate of dying alone."

"Don't be ridiculous!" said Mac. "No one ever thought that, not me, and _definitely_ not Wallace."

"I think," she said slowly, getting up and dusting her gabardine slacks, "it's time for me to leave."

"So you don't have to stick around and hear him tell you that in person, you mean," said Mac. "Well done, Veronica. You really dodged a bullet, there."

"If you're gonna be like that--" Veronica started saying, but Mac cut her off.

"Then what? You'll start screening my calls, too?"

" _What_ calls?" she demanded. "When did you call me, Mac? E-mail, text-message? Did you poke me on Facebook, and I didn't notice? Listen, I don't know when you and Wallace became a dynamic duo, but if you think you called me over here to work out _his_ issues, Mac, then you're a better liar than I thought."

Mac felt a wave of tingling crawl up her face. With difficulty, she said, "Fine." Paused, and added, "Leave, then."

Veronica turned on her heel and let the door click gently shut behind her, while Mac watched and wondered whether this was one of those times when it would be appropriate to fix herself a drink. Not that she knew how to mix drinks, or even what sort of drink she was supposed to be fixing. She barely even drank the beer that Wallace always claimed he was buying for both of them, Federal grudge cases notwithstanding.

Instead she carefully emptied the cold, soggy dregs from her mug and made herself a cup of chamomile tea. It was about cool enough to sip when Wallace came in.

"We need to call a tow truck," he said unceremoniously. "You can explain later."

***

"You could at least come up and drink some tea."

Veronica looked up from her smartphone. "This app never works when I really need it," she said, slipping the phone, with its useless gadgetry, into her handbag.

"Seriously," said Wallace again. "I know we've had our... differences, but there's no good reason for you to stand around in the street this late at night."

"That's not necessary," said Veronica.

"Unless you're too chicken to face Mac," he said. "I wouldn't blame you, if that's the reason. I've never seen her this mad."

"There was that one time with Dick," Veronica started, and didn't finished.

Wallace smiled, almost.

"Ah, the good old days," said Veronica, almost smiling herself. "When politicians were honest and rich brats made passes at my best friend."

"After that summer--" Wallace started to say.

Veronica cut him off. "We don't need to talk about it, Wallace," she said. "There's... no reason to dredge up old sores."

"That's a terrible metaphor," said Wallace.

"I majored in criminology, not English," she pointed out. "You were there. For the most part."

Wallace did that thing where he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, and she knew the head tilt meant he wasn't surprised, but angry. "And we don't need to talk about it," he said. "Sure."

"Old wounds, Wallace," said Veronica, starting to get irritated in a way she had almost forgot. "Leave the past behind."

"I'm not the one who wasn't around, Veronica," he replied, looking down at his flexing hands. "Look--"

"I made a mistake."

They stood and looked at anything but each other for a few elastic minutes.

"Come have tea," said Wallace, breaking the brittle calm. "Tell me all about who hates your guts these days. I mean, Federal Agent Veronica Mars. You gotta have someone big gunning for you now."

Veronica shrugged. "It's a gift."

"So?" he offered, gesturing at the open door to the lobby. "After you?"

"The tow should be here any minute," said Veronica. "Maybe..."

Wallace nodded shortly. "Maybe some other time."  

 


End file.
